#that all the songs are from the same playlist

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + nineteen

authors note: this one has....some surprising twists and connections. that's for sure....

cw/tw: angst, fluff, and characters using dark humor to discuss mental health

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist + story playlist + taglist request form

words: 8k

Roman’s never been the type to really push things off. Not important things, at least. And seldom in his life has his to-do list ever really consisted of non-essentials. There’s always something to be done, a task to be handled, body or bodies to drop. 

But always at the top of the non-essential list has been his appointments with Dr. Michaels. They’ve always been more annoying than anything, annual routine check-ups that are required with his role as the Tribal Chief. To make sure he’s healthy and equipped for the job. Appointments the Elders are sure to stay on top of, which is also a large reason he hates them.

The Elders tried so hard at the beginning to stop and prevent him from taking his rightful place at the Head of the Table once he turned 18. Questioning his readiness, his eligibility (largely to him being afakasi), and even more, his capability. 

To be honest, it’s a major reason as to why Roman will never really respect them. For men who are supposed to uphold tradition, they seemed to throw that out the fucking window and jump through every available hoop to prevent him from fulfilling his father’s role. To stop a generational dynasty. 

It’s largely why Roman was so focused and dedicated at the beginning of his reign to prove them wrong. To prove them all wrong. 

Something he continues and will always do.

A knock on the door is followed up with the entrance of the man Roman could go the rest of his life without seeing. “Well, congratulations.” Roman maintains his bored expression, mentally going over the next items of his to-do list rather than entertaining his doctor. “You have the sperm count of a man in his twenties.”

That’s another annoying thing. The yearly tests to continue to monitor his ability to reproduce. Something he, like most things in life, passes with flying colors. 

“I’m sure the Elders will be thrilled to hear that.” Probably. Not that Roman gives a flying fuck. “What I’m not pleased with is your blood pressure.” Roman is slightly more present and engaged in the conversation at that. “Your numbers came back even higher this time, Roman. And while you’re not in the danger zone just yet, you keep this shit up of not taking this seriously, you will be.”

Yeah, the attention is fully present and focused now. Roman maintains a leveled voice while asking, “what the hell does that mean?”

Dr. Michaels sighs heavily, moving to sit on his stool, explaining carefully. “You have hypertension. It’s chronic, so it’s not going to go away by avoiding it. You have to take your medication as prescribed. That’s the only thing that will keep it managed.”

Roman looks away, rolling his shoulders. “It’s not that I don’t fucking take it.” And that’s the truth. When Roman remembers, he does. Or when he actually cares enough to, he’ll pop the pill in his mouth and down it with one of his energy drinks. 

“Every day?” Roman doesn’t bother with a reply, growing irritated at being scolded like he’s a fucking child. “Continue to fuck around with this, and you’re putting yourself at high risk for heart disease or stroke.”

Those two things seem almost impossible, like they shouldn’t even be used in the same sentence or paragraph as him or anything related to him. Roman is in excellent shape, works out at least twice a day, eats relatively well, doesn’t smoke or do drugs. Rarely drinks. All the good shit. 

All the healthy shit most medical providers recommend. Isn’t that enough?

It’s like the old man has uninvited access to Roman’s thought process, adding, “Hypertension is hereditary. Your dad had it. Your uncle had it. So, it only makes sense, especially with who you are and what you do, that you got it as well.” Jaw clenching, Roman refuses to comment on that. Refuses to discuss anything regarding his family. “You were technically in the prehypertension stage before, hence why I put you on meds to keep it from progressing. But, now you’re in the stage one hypertension range. Do you really wanna know and see what stage two would look like?”

Thankfully, Shawn doesn’t wait for a reply, continuing his long ass spiel. “You take such good care of yourself physically, but this one thing seems to be an issue for you?” When Roman still says nothing or even makes eye contact, Dr. Michaels goes for a different angle. “If you’re not going to do it for you, at least do it for that wife of yours.” That is when Roman’s sharp gaze lands back on his doctor. “She was a nervous wreck that night you were shot. Imagine what something happening to you that was avoidable would do to her.”

Damn him. 

For all intents and purposes, Roman does an excellent job at hiding the fact that Dr. Michaels found it. Found the thing that truly catches Roman’s attention. Solana always worries so much about him, especially this high blood pressure shit. He doesn’t even want to think about how she would react if she knew his numbers had gotten worse, that he’d slacked off a bunch on medication adherence since she’s been gone, since everything went down. 

She’d freak the fuck out, be an emotional mess, and it’d be all because of him.

Roman can’t have that. 

He won’t.

With a newfound purpose and reason to actually switch this topic from irrelevant to relevant, he relents, “fine. I’ll take the damn medication.”

“As prescribed?”

Smiling without an ounce of humor, Roman nods, reminding himself that it’s probably not a good idea to kill the doctor he’s had since he was 14. Michaels can be annoying, but he’s effective and hasn’t been a problem for the Tribal Chief. For the most part, at least. “Yes.”

Dr. Michaels chuckles. “Thank you.” He then stands up, looking down at his tablet and starts tapping around. “Unfortunately, because your numbers have jumped as much as they have, I need to up your dosage. I’ll send the script over to the pharmacy and make sure they have it filled today so you can pick it up today. Start tomorrow morning. Not next week. Or next year. Tomorrow. Alright?”

Not bothering to reply, Michaels walks over to him, smile almost sympathetic. “Good seeing you, big guy.” Roman scowls with borderline disgust at the light pat on his shoulder. “I’ll follow up with you in a month.”

Roman’s irritation spikes again. “A month? Why so soon?”

Hand on the door, Dr. Michaels shrugs and explains. “Gotta start monitoring your numbers more closely now.” He smirks a bit, taunting almost. “See if you’re as good at following directions as you are at giving them.” 

It’s when the door closes that Roman releases the heavy sigh. Always fucking something. Yet another thing added to his list. 

Of course. 

Roman stays annoyed, even as he’s escorted back into his office, the only thing keeping him from being completely vexed is the reminder that pops up on his phone. 

Visit with Sol

He’s scheduled to drive down to the treatment facility and spend the evening with Solana this evening. Something he’d never openly acknowledge to anyone other than her that he’s been looking forward to all week. 

Today marks two weeks since she transferred to residential treatment, and despite much more lax policies regarding personal items and even visitation, this will only be his second time seeing her.

And not because he hasn’t wanted to. 

No. Solana herself requested they stick to visits once a week versus more. Citing she wants to do this “on her own” as much as possible. The initial wording concerned him. He never wants her to feel like she’s alone in anything, but her follow up explanation provided him clarity on just what she meant. 

“You believe in and support me” A light shrug of her shoulders and gentle gleam in her pretty brown eyes as she adds with a determined nod. “I have to believe in and support me too.”

He checks in on her throughout the week, of course. And she keeps him updated on things like her individual and group therapy, even sharing photos of art she creates during down time. It helps that she’s allowed her phone this time around. Not that it would have made a difference if she wasn’t. There’s no way in hell he would allow her to be that far away without a way to directly communicate with him. Sure, Bautista is there, but still. 

Not enough.

But, it’s as Roman walks back into his office, any excitement at the thoughts of seeing his wife in person, being able to hold her and kiss her is dashed away. 

Replaced with well-hidden shock and irritation.

“What the fuck are you doing here?

There are two people in his office. Two uninvited people. One sits in his chair at his desk. The other sits on the edge of his desk. He recognizes one of them, but not the other. It takes a second for that recognition to dawn. It’s been years since he last saw him. He looks older, obviously, but outside of that, not much has changed.

Including his disrespectful ass disposition. 

A broad smile appears on the bearded face of the man who just doesn’t know today is the absolute wrong day to try to surprise Roman. To surprise a man who hates surprises in the first damn place. 

“Good to see you too, capo.”

There is nothing good about this. Roman already has seven million other things on his plate. He doesn’t need anything else thrown at him.

Especially this.

“Why are you here?” If there was anyone to come and pop up from the Cosa Nostra, he would have bet any money it would be Dwayne. And that would be a much better option than the bastard before him.

The woman on the desk chuckles. Roman can at least acknowledge her beauty. Breathtaking. Her features are almost too perfect to be real, her deep complexion free of any markings. A fine woman. Not Solana. Not in the slightest but still beautiful. She looks over at her co-intruder and speaks in Italian. “While the resemblance, physically, is undeniable. Personality wise is where it stops. Thank God. His bedside manners leave a lot to be desired.”

If she wasn’t a woman, Roman would have her laid out by now. To speak ill of him is one thing, but to do it in front of him is entirely different. Truth be told, if he wasn't already having a shitty day, a small part of him might be impressed at her balls. But, it’s not a good day. Far from it, so now he has to push back thoughts of murder.

Glare focused on her, he switches to Italian. “You have 1 minute to get the fuck out of my office, or else the only way you’ll be leaving is in a body bag.”

“Careful, Roman.” Matteo’s voice is light and surface level calm, but Roman knows better than that. Knows that it’s also a warning. If only he cared. “This is my wife.” 

“What makes you think I give a fuck?” Is Roman’s leveled reply. “I want her gone. Now.” Roman can’t decipher why this man would bring her in the first place. This doesn’t concern her. 

Matteo is smart, whispering something to long legs as she kisses his cheek and plops off the desk. Her smirk pisses him the fuck off as she walks past him, completely unbothered, remaining silent even as the door closes behind her.

Smug ass, prissy bitch. 

Roman doesn’t waste any time jumping back to the topic at hand. “Answer my question. Why are you here?”

Matteo sighs and sits forward, shaking his head. “Some things never change, huh?” Roman is just about to lose his shit at having to repeat himself when Matteo smartens up. “Dwayne sent me.”

Roman eyes him. “What?”

Matteo sighs, shrugging and rolling his shoulders. Roman’s mind quickly travels back to his last conversation with his cousin just a few weeks ago. Outside of the usual asking when he’ll fly out to Italy, he gave no indication that something was wrong. 

And yet Matteo, who Roman hasn’t seen in years, who is second to only Dwayne and lives in Italy full time, sits before him saying he was sent. 

“It’s as Dwayne has been telling you. The Administration grows restless of a leader who lives in a completely different continent.” 

This is nothing Roman hasn’t heard before a million times, but each time, his already limited patience continues to wane. “Is the business not successful?”

That’s an easy answer. “It is.”

Well then. “So why the fuck am I needed there?”

“Because they’ll do and find anything they can to delegitimize your reign.” A sort of frown falls on his face as he adds in a lowered voice. “To create a case.” 

Roman’s gaze narrows, his nose snarling as he catches on to what’s being shared. “They want you to clock me?”

Matteo nods, asking, “you remember our cugino, Luca?” Roman also nods, still trying to settle his anger that these bastards actually have the audacity to want him followed. “Well, he’s not that same scrawny punk anymore. He’s older, stronger, clever. Sadistic. They think he would be better suited to lead.”

It’s not that Roman cares, he’s just trying to get into Matteo’s head, see where his thoughts are. That’s the only reason he asks, “do you?”

Matteo doesn’t appear to think about his answer, which Roman finds a bit surprising. It’s almost as if he’s being honest. “No. Not at all. He doesn’t have the strategic mind to be capo. He leads with his emotions. Is irrational and strong headed. Even more hot headed than you are. He’ll run the business into the ground.”

It’s been years since Roman has spoken or interacted with his cousin, but the description provided seems aligned with everything he’d already pegged. Luca isn’t fit for this role. The weight that comes with being the boss. 

He would most definitely ruin the empire.

“How long are you here for?” 

“Not sure.” Matteo shrugs, running his hand through his hair. “That’s why I brought the wife and kids.”

The wife thing briefly took Roman off guard, but the kids thing especially surprises him. Not that Matteo is even remotely close to being someone he’s close with, it still stuns him a bit. Then again, most men around their age have a family of some sort by this point. So, it really shouldn’t be that much of a shock.

Matteo must catch on to Roman’s expression. “Three of them. Set of twin boys and a girl. Not exactly something I broadcast. Safety reasons and whatnot.” And that, Roman most definitely gets. Matteo looks down, an almost bitter scoff leaving his mouth. “We both know how they feel about us mixed breeds.”

Another thing they can relate on. In more than just the obvious way. Roman’s mother’s racist ass side of the family hated his father being Samoan but ‘accepted’ him, arranged the union solely because of who he was. Because of the Bloodline. But, Matteo’s Turkish father, an essential commoner, never stood a chance.

His mangled, tortured remains that were pulled from the bottom of a lake was an outcome that was always bound to come. 

Roman shakes his head. “And you wonder why the fuck I don’t want to be around any of them?”

Matteo chuckles darkly. “Not at all.” He grabs a paper weight on Roman’s desk and starts tossing it up and down. “You should be lucky it’s me here and not someone else. Dwayne had to fight tooth and nail for them to select me to spy on you. As I’m sure you already know, yet probably don’t care about, there aren’t many on the Administration who are exactly…..fans of yours.”

“And they never will be.” 

Matteo lifts his chin, calmly adding. “Of either of us.”

Silence. 

It’s not uncomfortable. Not comfortable either. Just….silent.

Until Matteo places the paper weight back down and stands up, slowly walking over to Roman. 

“Roman…..” Right away, the Tribal Chief knows he’s not about to like wherever this conversation is going. “I know….I know we’re not close for a lot reasons, but that doesn’t negate the fact that we are brothers—”

Yeah…..as always, he was right. 

He doesn’t like this shit at all. 

“We are nothing,” Roman snaps, practically growling, Matteo managing to tap into such deep rooted insecurities and so carefully tucked away traumas. “Sharing the same mother makes us biological siblings, but it does not make us brothers.” 

For the briefest second, there’s something that flashes in Matteo’s brown eyes. Something akin to hurt. But, it’s quickly pushed away, shoved to the back of the bus. He lifts his head and instead takes a step closer. 

“Whether you believe me or not, Roman. My loyalty is to you. You are the rightful capo. The Capo di tutti capi, and I will fight for and with you to the death.”

Roman says nothing, because he has nothing to say. Nothing he wants to say, at least. The statement lays heavy, joining the other pile of weights that have seemed to settle and make themselves comfortable in his head.

And his heart.

Matteo extends a hand, placing it on Roman’s shoulder, giving an almost comforting squeeze.

“You are mio fratello.” The word being repeated, however, is enough to make the Tribal Chief ready to resort to violence when Matteo, wisely steps back. “As I’m sure you’ve figured, while I’m here, I will need to be present for any and all meetings or discussions regarding the Cosa Nostra.”

Yes, Roman’s not a dumbass. Of course he has to. He needs something to report back to those bitches. It’s just how much of the actual truth will get relayed that he’s unsure about.

Roman continues to stand there, anger and twenty different other emotions boiling as the older man walks toward the door, readying to leave, but not without one final departing statement. 

“See you tomorrow, brother.”

—-------

“Is it true he’s packing an almost 10inch dick?”

Solana nearly chokes on the water she was in the midst of downing at the most unexpected, wild, flabbergasting question she’s almost ever received. 

And her expression of complete and utter shock is shared with the other two women who sit with her. 

Cam is the first to speak though, instantly chiding the other woman, “Mickie!”

“What?” Mickie, however, doesn’t seem to see the issue. Pulling one leg up on the sofa, she shakes the bottle of nail polish and starts applying the pretty lilac color. “Remember my ex-friend Layla? She fucked him one time and said it was the biggest one she ever had. That he could barely fit it in.”

“Mickie, for the love of God, shut up.” Melina cuts in, her voice less shocked and more irritated. She motions to Solana with her free hand, the other one in Solana’s lap as she designs the butterflies for her. “That’s her husband.”

“Well, she has to know he’s a hoe. Or used to be?” 

Cameron shakes her head, finishing up her own nail polish application to her short nails. “Seriously, Mickie, you’re out of line.” 

“It’s okay.” Solana finally decides to make her two cents known as she caps the bottle and places it back on the sofa beside her. “I—I know he….he had a reputation.” That seems like the nicest way to say it, the nicest way to acknowledge that her husband has probably slept with more women than she’d like to ever know. 

“That wasn’t an answer tho—ow!” Mickie winces when Melina punches her in the arm. “Bitch.”

Melina just chuckles, focus back on Solana as she jokes. “You see why we’re all here?”

It makes Solana smile.

To anyone else, the scene would be quite difficult to fully understand. Four young women chatting and joking amongst each other like they’re not all currently admitted and receiving treatment at a residential facility for women. They should be sad, moping, disconnected, unstable. And they have been all of those things, hence their current placement.

But, they’re also so much more than that. They’re human beings who hurt and feel like everyone else. They’ve just been hurt a lot more than some other people and have not responded or processed or even healed just yet. 

Emphasis on yet. Another thing Solana has picked up in therapy. 

“Did you guys do your assignment for Lilian?” Solana asks, partially wanting to redirect the focus from off herself and Roman’s…..anatomy, but also genuinely curious about their experiences completing the homework provided in group therapy.

Cam is the first to answer, shaking her head. “Yeah. It was…..not the best time.”

“Agreed,” Mickie chimes, shrugging her shoulders. “I mean, I tried to not be too depressing but ….considering I’ve tried to, as the kids say, unalive myself three times now, there wasn’t a lot to go off of.”

Solana winces. This is something she’s still getting a bit used to, if she ever fully will. How sometimes dark humor is so easily weaved into conversations. She’s seen and realized it’s a type of coping mechanism, but it’s still a bit difficult, nonetheless. 

The assignment being discussed consisted of the ladies being tasked with coming up with at least 10 chapter titles to represent their lives. Five from the past and five for the future they hope to have. Solana can agree that the ones for the past were a bit challenging and definitely sad, but her future ones managed to feed that hope she’s determined to not lose this time around.

“I kind of cheated and used song titles for some of them,” Melina admits with a chuckle.

“I used songs for all of them,” Cam counters with a small, sly smile. Of the three women, Solana seems to relate closely to her. They’re the same age and have the same quiet disposition that’s only shed away ever so slightly once they become more comfortable.

Which, clearly, has already started to happen.

“Have ya’ll ever heard Mama’s Hand by Queen Naija?” Almost everyone says no or shakes their head to signify no being their answer. Melina goes on to explain, “it’s this really pretty song she wrote about her son. I used some of the lyrics for my titles for my son.”

Solana, who was just about to switch to a different skin marker to start on the next butterfly, pauses. “You have a son?”

Yes, they’ve all grown rather close over the past few weeks, starting with their simultaneous hospital stays to where they all now room only doors down from each other in residential treatment. However, Melina having a child is news to Solana.

She nods and pulls the arm back that Solana was drawing on to reach in her back pocket, pulling out a folded photo. Considering Melina only reaches it to her, Solana takes a guess that Mickie and Cam already knew. Makes sense.

A smile naturally falls on her face at the sight of the curly haired little boy playing in the sand. 

Melina also smiles, though hers is clearly weighed down with sadness. “I took that just two months ago. We went to Isla Mujeres to go visit Santos aunt. She lives down there.” 

“He’s beautiful, Melina. What’s his name?” The mention of the island also captures Solana’s attention. “Roman and I were just there not too long ago, actually. He took me for my birthday.”

“Santos. Go figure.” She rolls her eyes, as Solana giggles. She thinks it’s actually cute he was named after his father. “And really? It’s so beautiful.”

Breathtaking. “It is.”

“Thank you.” Melina’s smile deepens as she takes the photo and tucks it back into her pocket. “We had a good time there. It almost feels too nice to be unreal, huh?”

Solana nods. “My mom used to tell me about it all the time, which is why Roman took us. He bought us a house there, so we can go back and visit.”

“Damn, what’s it like being married to someone so rich?” Mickie almost moans, head thrown back for a second before she gasps. “Could we do like a girls trip there or something? You know, assuming we don’t all get locked up again on grippy sock trips for trying to kill ourselves.” 

Cam rolls her eyes but admits, “outside of the suicide joke, that does sound kind of fun.”

“We can stay at your house,” Mickie suggests to Solana. “If Roman is okay with that, of course.”

Solana thinks about it. Something tells her he wouldn’t protest. Not if she really wanted it. He’d probably stay somewhere else, not wanting to be around a bunch of women, but she can’t see him saying no. Matter of fact, it kind of aligns with the idea she had brought up to Roman before the incident. An idea of a girls trip with Naomi and Bayley, who she still needs to talk to actually. 

She hasn’t interacted with them since that night. And not for any reason other than wanting to make sure she’s emotionally ready for that, no doubt, heavy ass conversation.

There will definitely be a lot of tears.

“I could talk to him,” she finally answers, looking over at Melina. And she will. It could actually be really nice having all of her now friends together for a nice getaway trip. “You should bring your son too.” 

Melina looks surprised by this. “Really?” She then looks down, chuckling sadly. “That’s if Santos trusts me enough.”

Given that their rooms are right next to each other, both here and at the hospital, Solana has found herself talking with and to Melina more than Mickie and even Cam. Melina is also Mexican, fluent in Spanish, which allows them to sometimes converse in the language only the two of them understand. But, in some of those conversations, they’ve gotten deep, which is why she’s slightly surprised this is the first time she’s hearing about a child.

Melina had disclosed a lot of her relationship with Santos Escobar. How they’ve known each since they were kids, shared some of their best and worst moments with each other, how he’s loved her through it all. 

Solana can still remember the heartbreaking look in her teary eyes as she shared, ‘he just wants me to love myself as much as he loves me’. And Solana related to that so deeply. It made her think of Roman and how he could never love her back most likely but how the way he cares about her and takes care of her probably feels just as good.

She knows what it’s like to be with someone who thinks the world of you when you can barely find reasons to justify as to why you even exist. 

They relate a lot in that regard. 

It’s why Solana reaches a comforting hand and places it over Melina’s hand, voice soft but sure. “You’re gonna get better, Melina.” She looks over to Cam and Mickie. “We all are.”

There’s a comfortable silence among the group that is welcomed and moving. A silent agreement between women who were once strangers and now friends. Sisters, even.

Mickie caps the bottle of nail polish and carefully places her foot back on the ground while reaching for Solana’s water bottle, lifting it up as if giving a toast. “To mental stability and finding rich men with big dicks to spend the rest of our lives with!”

“Mickie!”

—-----------

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Solana’s soft voice manages to snatch Roman away from that sunken place in his head where he’s sat deep in his thoughts for a variety of reasons, largely all due to the unexpected things that have been thrown at him.

He’d tried his best to put all of that into his visit to Asylum where he continues to extract his gruesome vengeance against her family and rapists. And it did help. A little, but clearly not enough where he’s able to hide the fact that he has a lot on his mind. 

“Come here.” Roman motions her over from where he sits propped up in the middle of her bed and she stands at the edge of the bed, notebook in hand. He watches the almost nervous way she places the book down on the bed and climbs over to him, Roman helping her straddle him. Kissing her exposed shoulder, he murmurs an apology into her soft skin. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes shut when she moves her hand to his hair, fingers almost massaging his scalp. “You want—do you want to talk about it?”

He can’t help but chuckle. The irony. “Isn’t that a bit counterproductive?”

She shakes her head, continuing to provide him soothing relief like nothing else can. “No. I—I told you before, you can talk to me too.”

It’s strange. If the situation was different, if he wasn’t still cautious regarding her mental health and the state of it, he might….he might take her up on it.

The Matteo situation though…..it’s complicated and layered and messy, and she doesn’t need any of that.

“I know.” Roman moves his hands to her hips. “But, I’m fine. Just a long ass day.”

Her eyes light with something. “Wasn’t your appointment today?” Shit. “How did it go? How’s your shoulder? What did he say about your blood pressure?”

Roman hates lying to Solana. He really does. She’s probably the only person in his life he’d prefer to not keep secrets from. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s been through more than enough shit to not deserve it.

But this…..he has to lie. 

Roman can’t think of one good thing that’ll come from telling her the truth. Solana seems to be doing well at this place, gradually improving day by day. Laying this on her will only hinder that progress and make her freak the fuck out. He doesn’t want that for her. 

He refuses to contribute to any type of regression.

Thus leaving him with only one option.

“It was fine, Sol.” To lie. “Shoulder’s practically healed. Numbers were fine. I’m good.”

That last part isn’t a lie, because Roman is determined this time around to actually do what Michaels said. To take his medication as he’s supposed to. 

For Solana.

He owes her that much.

She sighs, clearly and visibly relieved. “Good.” Roman feels like shit lying to her, but it’s for her own good. “C–can I show you something then?”

“You can show me anything, Sol.” Anything to take them off this damn topic is more than welcomed. 

He’s also reassured by the relieved smile on her face as she reaches back for her notebook, opening it, clearly looking for a certain page while talking. “One of the things I’ve been working on in therapy is goals. Like….setting goals for myself that are attainable and doable.”

“Okay.” Roman doesn't really know where she’s going, but right off the bat, whatever she needs might as well already be done. He’ll make it happen. 

“I…..” She trails off, biting down on her bottom lip, most likely trying to figure out how to say it. “I made a list of things I want to do when I get home. Some….some sooner, and some later.” Handing him the notebook, he starts reading off her neat handwriting, slightly taken back by the first thing on the list. 

Get back into training 

“Solana…..”

Roman is not opposed to Solana continuing to train. He thinks she should. Believes it’s been good for her. He just doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that it’s the number one thing on her list. Her mental strength, in his mind, should be the priority. 

She must detect and pick up on his hesitancy, eyes traveling to meet his. “He tried to take my life, Roman.” She cuts him off, her voice much lower and quieter than before. “In….in more than one way.” Roman can tell there’s another story there, but he won’t push it. Just keep it in mind the next time he’s hacking into her piece of shit father’s body. “He told me that because—because he wanted to break me, but I won’t—” She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “He didn’t. I’m not going to let him take away all the progress I’ve made. I know I—I regressed, but I am going to get better. I am better.” 

He respects that. Respects her so immensely. It hasn’t been the easiest thing for Roman to see her go up and down as much as she has over the past month. She’s had her highs and her lows, the lows being so much heavier than most people’s. 

And that’s just been for him. He can’t imagine how it’s been for her having to actually deal with all these things.

So, while a part of him wants her to just focus on her mental health, if she truly believes getting back into training will help aid that. He’ll support it. 

“Okay.”

She smiles, adding on, “did you—did you find a man for me to train with?” He did. In fact. He just hadn’t thought she’d want to jump right back into that either. “Also, I—I wanna learn how you do that thing you do.”

It’s the way she words it, the almost nervousness in her voice that makes him smile a bit. “Thing?”

She nods, shifting a bit on top of him. “You did it at WarGames. When you like…..ram into people. You knocked out whoever that was unconscious with one hit.”

It’s the added sentence that makes him realize what she’s referring to. “A spear?” And Solana nodding only widens his smile. Her innocence at the whole thing is adorable. “Baby, who you trying to spear?”

She shrugs, pushing some of hair back, cheeks reddening. “I don’t know. It just….it just seems effective.”

“It is.” When done correctly and done with proper training. It’d take her a while to get there, but if it’s what she wants, he’ll support it. “If you really want to learn though, I’ll teach you.”

Her smile is genuine and appreciative. Roman stealing a second to take it in, take in her happiness in this moment before moving onto the next one.

Host welcome home party 

At this second goal, Roman frowns, emitting a giggle from Solana. He looks up at her, clarifying, “does this mean you want people at the house?”

She playfully rolls her eyes. “Yes, Ro, I do.”

It was going so well. Training. He could get with. A bunch of people at his house though? Hell no. “Who exactly do you want to invite?”

“Jimmy, Jey, Naomi, Bayley, Melina—”

“Who the hell is Melina?” So far, there’s not a person listed that he’s in agreement with. “Baby, you know I hate people—”

“I know, but…..” She moves her hand to the bottom of his shirt, crumpling it while trying to plead her case. “They’re our friends….our….our family, and that….that means a lot to me.” Fuck. She’s too good at that shit. Tugging at his heartstrings. “Gail has been teaching me a lot about trauma and how it works. How connection is the way to heal. And that….that makes sense because you have been the biggest part of my healing, my connection with you, my—my love for you.”

Roman closes his eyes. Of course. Of course she would drop that word on him. The love word. The word that he can never voice to her and about her but feels with everything in him.

Taking in her heartfelt words, he nods, slowly. “Okay. Just…tell me when you want to do it and what you need. We’ll make it happen.” Thinking about something else, something important, he stipulates. “Jey’s not bringing them bad ass kids though. Or Nicki.” 

Solana rolls her eyes again. “Ro…..”

“Solana, I’m not about to have those failed Plan B’s destroy our house. And Nicki is a fucking arsonist. She’ll burn the place down.”

His wife pouting almost as she crosses her arms would make Roman chuckle if not for the fact he’s thinking about the last time Jey brought all his mistakes over to the property. Those little assholes caused over $50,000 in damages. Sure, it was of no financial consequence to him, but it was annoying as fuck to have to have people in his house doing the repairs. 

But, of course, his sweet saint of a wife lives up to her reputation. “Roman, that’s mean. They’re just….they’re just kids.”

“No, they’re vermin.” And he means that with everything in him. But, the minute Solana leans over and lays her head on his shoulder, a soft, desperate ‘please?’ leaving her mouth, it’s a wrap.

Damn her persuasiveness.

Or maybe it’s just his lack of resolve that seems to disappear when it comes to her.

Sighing against her, he mutters, “you know I can’t say no to you.”

Solana giggles, hugging and kissing him on his cheek. Meanwhile, Roman makes a mental note to have a shit ton of them kid leashes and fire hydrants ordered ASAP. 

Roman grunts as Solana murmurs a ‘thank you,’ and he moves onto the next one.

Get tattoos

This shifts the conversation a bit as he asks, “really?”

Nodding, she gestures to her inner right forearm where the colorful butterflies remain. Something she seems determined and focused to keep up. “I want to get the Hummingbird. For my mom.” She ghosts her fingers over her truly impressive artwork. “Butterflies. And….a semicolon.” Roman is grateful when she explains the last one on her own volition. “It’s….it’s for people who’ve survived depression and trauma and….and suicide.” She swallows, adding. “Something comes after a semicolon just like something comes after our darkness.” And before Roman can even comment on that, voice his agreement, she continues. “I want a lotus too. That’s for….for sexual assault.” 

She doesn’t say anything beyond that, and he doesn’t push it. Just brings her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. “Just tell me when.” He’ll reach out to his tattoo artist and get her scheduled the same day if that’s what she wants. Whatever she needs. 

Solana smiles, licking her lips. “I—I want one for you too. I just—haven’t figured out what exactly.” 

She’s just full of surprises tonight. He understands all of the desired tattoos that she’s listed thus far. They all have such deep, profound meanings, so for him to be included in that list feels almost wrong. For her to want to put something permanent on her body for him seems wrong. “Solana, you don’t—”

“But, I want to.” 

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. Everything else she described was fine and made sense, but this one is a struggle for him. Regardless, he doesn’t push it further. Doesn’t question her.

He just continues to read through the list, the rest, for the most part, presenting no major issue. Things like continuing to work on her confidence, going back to Isla Mujeres, taking up pole dancing (he definitely wants the backstory on that as well as see if it can be moved up the list), moving all of her journals and books into the home library, etc.

However, Roman is a bit confused when he reaches the last numbered item that’s written in Spanish. She knows he doesn’t speak or understand practically any of it.

10) un bebe o una bebe

His confusion is evident, and it grows slightly when Solana almost gently takes the notebook from him and carefully places it on the bed beside them. She swallows, eyes focused on him as she moves her arms around his neck. “Roman…..I….”

Seeing her trepidation, he moves his hands to her hips, holding her. “Solana, talk to me.”

The reassurance seems to help, as she nods and blows out a deep breath. “Just…..promise me you’ll think about it before you give me an answer?”

This, however, doesn’t help him much. It only makes his curiosity grow at just what she’s talking about. Still, he won’t deny her request. “Okay.”

She moves even closer, gaze falling down to her lap. “When…..when I get better and….and more stable, I—” She lifts her eyes, voice steady and soft. “I want to have a baby, Roman.” Fuck. “I want us to have a baby. I—I want to be a mom.”

Of all the things to come out of her mouth this evening, some more than surprising, this has to take the cake. It’s the last thing he expected to hear her say.

Ever.

“Solana….”

“We have to make an heir anyway. I know….I know you’ve been taking care of that for us, but—but we can’t take forever, and—I’m ready. I know I need to focus on my mental health, and I am. I will, but…..Roman, I really want to have a baby with you.” She adds on, almost desperate and needing him to have all of the information so he can make the best decision. “And I talked to Dr. Stratus. She said all of my medications are safe to take while pregnant. We might have to change something if I decide to breastfeed, but she said that won’t be a huge issue either.”

Well, shit. Roman finds himself asking in a low voice. “You already talked to someone about this?”

She nods, almost nervously. “I just—I needed to know what she and Gail thought. If….if I’m stable enough for it.”

“What they say?”

She looks down, chuckling a bit, eyes watering. “They think I’d be a good mom.”

There’s something almost sad about the way she seems almost surprised by this. Like she didn’t think she’d be good at it until receiving their approval.

When, in actuality, he thinks she’d be the best damn mom a kid could ask for. But, she’d have to be…..with him as the father. 

Roman is not….he’s not built for that life. He doesn’t know or understand the first thing about kids other than they need and deserve all of the things he can’t and doesn’t know how to give. That’s why he’d have to lean so heavily on Solana, on her soft and gentle nature. And how would that be fair? To give her a child that she more or less would have to raise by herself because any overt involvement from him would probably increase the chances of the kid ending as fucked up as Roman is.

“You would, baby.” He finds himself agreeing, voice still low, gentle almost, even in the midst of such self-loathing thoughts. There’s so many things Solana is insecure and self-conscious about still, but this shouldn’t be one of them. “Amazing.”

The way her expression softens so deeply does something to him. “Really?” Her eyes watering is the icing on the cake as she grabs his hand, tracing the lines on his palm. “Y–you really mean that?”

He’s not sure he’s ever meant anything more. “Of course.”

Solana throws another curveball at him with the next soft admission to leave her mouth. “I think you’d be an amazing dad too.”

Fuck.

Keyword of the day it seems. 

Because just what in the hell is he supposed to do with that? How does he tell her that she’s wrong as hell? That someone like him really has no business being anyone’s father. That he’d just fuck up any kid of theirs. That despite recurrent dreams he’s been having about this, about fatherhood, that Roman in the dreams has to be someone else.

Can’t and could never be him. 

He’s good at a lot of things, maybe more than the average person, but that?

No.

Just…..no.

But what difference does all of this make when Solana is right about the fact that he has to have an heir. A child needs to be produced, whether he wants to or not, and this discussion is making him realize that while he’s spent his whole life feeling indifferent to fatherhood, the entrance of Solana, of having her be the mother to his kid, has thrown a wrench into everything. 

He doesn’t know what the fuck to think now. 

So, he expresses as such with as much carefulness as he can.

“I just…..I gotta think, Solana.” About more than just this. About everything. This day has been….a lot, to say the least.

“Of course.” She nods. And if she’s disappointed by his answer, she does a great job at not showing it. Roman welcomes her when she moves her body to lay on top of his, her face pressed against his chest. “I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.”

It’s a statement that stays with Roman for the rest of his visit, oscillates in the back of his head as he sits in the middle of the SUV while being driven home.

Everything feels like it’s all been happening at once, almost too fast, like the speed is something he’s somehow unable to keep up with. Newfound territory for the man who’s always prided himself at always being so in control.

But, he’s not. 

He’s not in control of damn near all the things right now, his emotions, namely. And it’s fucking miserable. 

His love for Solana that he can’t act on because he doesn’t know what the fuck that would even mean.

Not being able to help her to the extent she needs and not being there for her when she needed him the most. Not being there to stop her the night she tried to kill herself.

Not telling her the truth about her father and leaving her to find out in the most traumatic way.

Now there’s the matter of his health, his blood pressure that he once thought was insignificant, now a moderate to major issue. 

Couple on the unexpected reintroduction of his mother’s firstborn re-entering his life.

And to top it all off, Solana wants to have a baby.

With him. 

Fucking hell.

It’s not until mentally listing all of these things that Roman becomes aware of a tightness in his chest, a sensation he hasn’t felt in years. Not since….not since his last panic attack.

Fuck.

Realizing what’s about to happen, Roman rolls down the tinted windows and uses the passing, speeding cars as the source of distraction. He picks the color red and starts counting how many he sees, and when that’s not enough, he switches to cars vs SUV’s, mentally listing those off. 

He continues to do that until that dastardly feeling entirely dissipates. But, it’s only when he rolls up the window that he punches the headrest in front of him.

This can’t happen again. Roman has too fucking much on his plate and stands to lose way too much. He can’t experience his own kind of regression. But, that’s exactly what’s happening. The thought of which allows him to acknowledge for the first time, in a long that, that he’s overwhelmed.

Roman feels overwhelmed. 

It’s just too fucking much. His head is cloudy as shit, and he needs to just get away from it all.

Grabbing his phone, he puts Rikishi, Jimmy, and Jey in a group text and types out a message. 

Roman: I’m going to see her this weekend. 

Less than two minutes later, the phone dings with a reply. 

Rikishi: I’ll make the arrangements.

Expecting that answer, he moves to the next part of his messages. 

Roman: Jimmy, I need you and Naomi to keep Dulce for me. I’m gonna put you and Jey down as emergency contacts if something happens with Solana while I’m gone. 

Roman: And if it’s not in regards to my wife, don’t fucking bother me.

Roman switches to his thread with Solana, uninterested in anything else anyone has to say right now. He just needs to communicate with Solana.

He can’t tell her the truth, of course, but he does need her to know he won’t be as readily available. 

She deserves that much.

Roman: A work situation came up, so I have to go out of town this weekend. I’m going to leave Dulce with Jimmy and Naomi. If you need anything, call me, and I’ll come back home.

Roman places his phone on the seat beside him and tilts his head back, running his hand over his face. 

Then his phone goes off.

Solana: Roman….

Solana: I’m okay. You don’t have to do that. I’m safe. I’m….I’m feeling happy again. Just focus on yourself. You have so much on your plate right now. I can tell. I wish you would talk to me, but I get it….

Solana: Just please take care of yourself. Be careful.

Roman reads over her texts at least three times, really honing in on the ‘I wish you would talk to me.”

He’s starting to wish he could too.

He really is.

Solana: I love you. ❤️

Another ding, and he swallows. It’s getting harder and harder to have her be so vulnerable with him and not be able to reciprocate that. It feels cruel to ignore her, to say nothing when she tells and gives him everything.

It’s why after going back and forth in his head for a good two minutes, he eventually says fuck it and sends out a simple but telling reply.

Roman: ❤️

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

New fic live on ao3 now

Tu Corazón Es Mío (Your Heart Is Mine)

First installment of Kali Fic 💅 G (for now 😉) | 2k | spanning the Tarlos relationship eras

Each installment of this series is inspired by a Kali Uchis song. These will be non-linear snapshots throughout Carlos and TK’s relationship.

First installment is inspired by @whatsintheboxmh’s beautiful art of TK & Carlos returning to the pier where TK spent the night after his overdose, and thus is gifted to her 🥰

Title comes from the song Tu Corazón Es Mío by Diosa herself (Kali Uchis)

Playlist here

***Sometimes remembering feels like a curse. But today it feels like a blessing.***

“You know,” Carlos says, once again pulling TK out of his thoughts. “I wasn’t expecting you either. But you blew into Texas and into my life, a tornado of passion and swagger and hair pomade. And super hot sex. Baby, you blew me away.”

“It was all fake.”

“I know— I knew. But I saw you. I saw your big heart and your vulnerability …and your sweet ass.”

“Heh,” he smiles and closes his eyes. Memories of the early days of their relationship dancing behind his eyelids, flashing by like slides on the vintage View Master he had as a kid. He remembers the way Carlos looked at him, how uncomfortable it made him because nobody had ever looked at him like that. “You always saw me.”

“I did. And you kept running away from me, and I kept swearing I wasn’t gonna chase you.”

“But you did.”

“I couldn’t resist.”

***

Three years after their wedding, Tarlos visits NYC and shares a moment of reflection on the same pier TK sat on the night after his overdose, thinking his life was over. With his husband by his side, TK takes a moment to reflect on his past and look to his future.

Read on ao3

Tag list @pimento-playing-hopscotch @chicgeekgirl89 @carlos-tk @guardian-angle22 @whatsintheboxmh @captain-gillian @welcometololaland @honeybee-taskforce @heartstringsduet @ladytessa74 @herefortarlos @lightningboltreader @literateowl @liminalmemories21 @reyesstrand @paperstorm @thisbuildinghasfeelings @bonheur-cafe @kiwichaeng @laelipoo @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @firstprince-history-huh @fifthrideroftheapocalypse @carlos-in-glasses @tellmegoodbye @freneticfloetry @never-blooms @certifiedflower @noxsoulmate @goldenskykaysani @toomanycupsoftea @eclectic-sassycoweyes @mrs-corrections-78 @the-126-family @corsage 💕

[cerisesparadise]

still with you - park jongseong

genre - romantic drama, contemporary romance, lovers to exes (to lovers again? I’ll let you guys decide <3), slight angst?

pairing - idol ex bf!jay x fem!reader

warnings - none? It’s quite nostalgic and melancholic, fitting to the rainy fall weather (and this week’s theme on bjnet!) does an open ending count? (definitely does for me lol) - lmk if I should add any!

wc -  2.1k

synopsis - In a cosy café where they once shared quiet moments, she now sits alone, missing Jay—an artist whose career has skyrocketed since they mutually parted ways. Though she supports him from afar, she can’t help but wonder: is their story truly over, or is there still a way back to each other?

a/n - hii! welcome to my first official post under bjnet! this week’s theme is “A rainy day”, and since it’s been pouring this whole week, my rainy days playlist came back. On shuffle, Jungkook's Still With You started playing–my absolute favourite song–so I was inspired to write about Jay! Hopefully the weather’s been better for you guys, and enjoy reading! | bookshelf

The rain drummed softly against the café windows, each drop cascading down the glass like tiny rivers tracing a path to nowhere. It was one of those quiet, overcast afternoons when time seemed to slow, and the world outside became a blur of muted colours. Inside the café, the warmth of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of low conversation wrapped around you, but none of it reached deep enough to distract you from the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You sat at the same table by the window, your fingers tracing invisible lines on the surface, where your books used to lie scattered. Back then, this corner had felt like your own private world—yours and Jay's. You could almost see it now, like a film playing out in front of you. He would sit across from you, his notebook open, guitar resting against the chair. Sometimes he’d hum under his breath, scribbling down lyrics, lost in the melodies that only existed in his mind until he could give them life.

You, on the other hand, were always hunched over textbooks and notes, eyes heavy with focus but heart light with the simple joy of being near him. The two of you didn’t always talk; sometimes, hours would pass in comfortable silence, with only the soft scrape of pen on paper or the occasional tap of a key on his laptop breaking the quiet. But it was a silence you cherished—a language all its own, one that spoke of contentment and understanding.

That was before.

Now, you were alone in that same café, staring out at the rain-soaked streets, lost in the bittersweet haze of what was, and what could have been. The weight of the empty chair across from you seemed heavier today, more tangible. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the song softly playing over the café’s speakers—one of his. The familiar notes tugged at something deep inside you, each lyric a reminder of the memories you still carried.

You missed him.

You missed the way his voice would gently pull you out of your thoughts when he caught you zoning out during a study session, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you from across the table, as if to say, I'm here, I'm with you. You missed the way he would sneak a lyric or a phrase into his songs that only you would recognize, something small, something that connected just the two of you in a world where he was meant to belong to everyone.

But life had demanded more of him than just this corner of a café, more than just you. It had demanded his passion, his ambition, his heart. And you had your own path to follow. He was chasing his dream—music, the one constant in his life since long before he had met you. And you had your own dreams too, though they felt a little lonelier now. The decision to part ways hadn’t been easy for either of you, but it had been mutual. Logical, even. You both had careers to build, lives to shape. And you knew, deep down, that holding each other back wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Some days were easier than others. You kept busy with your studies, threw yourself into projects and assignments, and told yourself that this was how it had to be. That it was right. You still believed that. You both deserved to chase the things that made you feel alive. But there were days—days like today—when you’d find yourself back here, sitting at the same table, looking out at the rain and wondering.

Wondering if it was all worth it.

You watched the raindrops slide down the window, each one chasing the other, much like your thoughts. There was a time when you believed that no matter what life threw at you, the two of you could weather it together. But then the opportunities came knocking for him—the tours, the interviews, the endless nights spent in the studio. He had made it. You watched him rise, his name lighting up stages and screens, his music reaching people in ways he had always dreamed of.

And you? You cheered him on. Always. From the shadows, from a distance. Every time you saw his name in the headlines or his face on your feed, a small, proud smile would tug at your lips. That was your Jay up there, living the dream you had seen him work so hard for. You had always known he had it in him. And now the world did too.

But what the world didn’t see was the quiet ache that lived in the spaces between. They didn’t see the way your heart clenched every time his voice filled the room, reminding you of the nights you spent here, when his music was just for you. They didn’t see the way you’d trace the letters of his name absentmindedly, lost in thought, wondering if he still thought of you too.

But sitting here now, with only the rain and the memories, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t think like that, wouldn’t let yourself slip into that spiral of what ifs—but it was hard. Hard not to believe, deep down, that you were supposed to be together. That despite everything, despite the distance, despite the lives you were building separately, you should have found a way to make it work.

A sigh escaped your lips as you picked up your coffee, now lukewarm, and took a small sip. The bitterness matched the mood settling over you, but it was a familiar comfort. The door to the café opened, and you looked up instinctively, your heart fluttering in your chest, just for a moment. There was always that sliver of hope, wasn’t there? That maybe, by some twist of fate, he would walk in. That the universe would bring him back to this table, to you.

But it wasn’t him. It never was. You smiled at yourself ruefully, shaking your head at the foolishness of it. Jay wasn’t coming back—not in the way you hoped, anyway. His path was set, and so was yours.

And yet, a part of you would always be here, in this café, waiting. Waiting for the impossible, for something that felt unfinished, unresolved. You could support him from a distance, as you always had. You could celebrate his successes, take pride in his accomplishments, cheer him on silently from the sidelines. But there would always be this ache, this quiet longing for the life you imagined, the one where you didn’t have to choose between love and dreams.

The rain continued to fall, a steady, rhythmic patter against the glass. And as you sat there, lost in thought, you knew that no matter how far apart your lives grew, no matter how much time passed, a part of you would always be with him. Just as he had said once, a long time ago, when things were simpler: “I’m still with you, even when I’m not.”

And in some ways, you still were too. Always with him.

As you continue to sit there, lost in the rhythm of the raindrops against the window, the café seems to melt away, taking you further into the labyrinth of your memories. You could still hear his laugh, feel the warmth of his hand when he’d reach out to touch yours, grounding you in the moment.

But now, that warmth is gone, replaced by the distant hum of the café, the clinking of mugs, the murmur of people around you. You sigh for the nth time, gripping your coffee cup tighter as if holding onto something that was never meant to stay.

Suddenly, a familiar voice breaks through the soft chatter. You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. It’s coming from the café’s radio–a voice you’d recognise anywhere. Jay’s voice. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding as the barista turns the volume up just a bit. You hadn’t heard his voice this way in months, not like this–so close, so familiar.

“...and that was Jay Park’s latest single, Still With You, topping the charts yet again. An instant hit since its release, fans are raving about the emotional depth and the heartfelt lyrics. We actually have Jay with us on the line. Jay, congratulations! Can you tell us a little more about the song?”

Your chest tightens, and you sit up a little straighter, pulse racing. Still With you? That can’t be. That was your song. The one he’d written in this very café, the one he’d promised was for you. He’d never intended to release it, or at least, you thought he wouldn’t–especially after the two of you had parted ways. But here it was, playing on the radio for the entire world to hear.

You lean forward, your heart pounding louder than the rain as Jay’s voice comes through the speakers again, soft but steady, like a familiar embrace.

“I wrote this song a while back… for someone special in my life,” he begins, his tone thoughtful. “She was… she still is special, even though she’s not by my side anymore. Without her, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I wouldn’t have found the courage to chase this dream. So I guess this song is my way of saying thank you… and maybe hoping for another chance. I don’t know if she’ll ever hear it, but—” He pauses, and for a moment, you could almost imagine him looking down, smiling softly the way he used to. “—I hope she’s still out there somewhere, hoping for another chance at love, just like I am.”

The radio host fills the silence with congratulations and questions about his tour, but you’re no longer listening. The world around you seems to blur, fading into the background as your heart races in your chest. His words echo in your mind, crashing over you like the rain against the window.

“She’s still special. I hope she’s still out there, hoping for another chance. Just like I am”

Jay. The song, the message—it was for you. It had always been for you.

The rain outside felt heavier now, or maybe it was just your pulse beating in your ears, drowning out everything else. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady yourself, but it was impossible to ignore the sudden rush of emotion rising inside you. He hadn’t forgotten. Even after all this time, all the distance, he hadn’t let go. He was still thinking of you, still hoping, just as you had been, quietly, all this time.

Could this be it?

For a moment, you wondered if this was the sign you’d been waiting for—the universe’s way of telling you that maybe, despite everything, your story wasn’t over yet. It felt surreal–like something out of a dream. Jay, the one person you couldn’t forget, was reaching out, even if he didn’t know it.

You glanced out at the rain-soaked street beyond the café window, your reflection staring back at you with wide eyes and a heart full of questions. Could it really be that after all this time, Jay was still waiting for another chance? And more importantly, were you ready to find out?

The rain continued to fall, but for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel so heavy. Instead, it felt like the beginning of something—something you weren’t quite sure of yet, but something that made your heart beat just a little faster.

You inhaled sharply, trying to ground yourself. Was this the sign you had been waiting for? A second chance? You had been so convinced that your story with Jay had ended, but now–now, it felt as if the universe was pulling you back together, one note at a time.

You stood up slowly, gathering your things, mind racing with thoughts of what to do next. Maybe today, you’d just walk home. Maybe tomorrow, you’d listen to his song again, really listen. And maybe, just maybe, you’d find the courage to reach out.

But for now, the café door opened with a soft chime, and you stepped out into the rain—unsure of where it would lead you, but feeling, for the first time in a long time, like the world had offered you a possibility.

A possibility of a second chance.

© cerisesheaven — please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, copy, or alter any of my works. thank you angel!

[lousypotatoes]

Can't Help Falling In Love - Lucifer Morningstar

"Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin?

But I can't help

Falling in love with you~"

--

Playlist

Song Recommendation:

Can't Help Falling In Love - Elvis Presley

Next

Prologue

The building was quiet.

The only sound that could be heard was the sound of high heels clicking against the white, marble floor.

As she walked, Y/N summoned up a tiny pocket mirror, fixing her H/C hair, and making sure she didn't have anything on her pale face.

Making sure she was absolutely presentable.

She walked up to the big, golden doors. Before she knocked, she smoothed out her dress, not wanting any wrinkles.

The doors opened up on their own. Inside the room sat a large, beautiful marble table with golden accents. Three angels were sitting at the table. One looked cheerful and friendly, the second one looked calm and poised, and the third one looked angry and vengeful.

"Sera, Emily," Y/N nodded politely. "Lute, it's lovely to see you all. I understand you wanted to see me?"

"Y/N," Sera smiled. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. Shall we get started?"

"Of course," Y/N sat down in one of the golden chairs. "May I ask you what all this is all about, your Highness?"

Sera opened her mouth, about to reply, but was cut off by Lute.

"We need you to go to Hell," she said coldly.

If Y/N was drinking any kind of beverage, she would of spit it out at that moment.

"Excuse me, what?"

"Did you not hear me?" Lute barked.

"No, no, I heard you," Y/N said, trying to be nice. She had never gotten along with Lute, so she always found it difficult to act polite towards her when she never got the same thing back. "Could you maybe explain more to me?"

"What Lute is trying to say is....there is a place down in Hell that we need to investigate."

Y/N's brows furrowed. "Forgive me for asking, your Highness, but what does this have to do with me?"

"There is a certain Hotel," Sera explained. "That is run by the daughter of the Morningstar."

Y/N tensed up at the mention.

"Recently, we had a meeting with Ms. Morningstar, and she believes that sinners are able to redeem themselves, and join us up here in Heaven," Sera continued. "After the recent extermination, we have...reason to believe that this hotel that she runs needs to be under our investigation."

"That's where you come in," Emily said.

"I'm sorry, what?" Y/N gaped "Forgive me, your Highness, but you want me to go down to Hell to investigate some hotel?"

"What? Don't think you can handle that?" Lute said.

"That's not what I'm worried about," Y/N coldly said. "Why pick me? Why not send one of the exterminators?"

"Y/N," Sera said, standing up. "Since the beginning of time, you have been my most helpful assistant, every task I assign you with, you complete it with ease and no complaints."

"I am enlisting you to do this because I trust that you will get this done as fast as possible," Sera continued. "So please, will you travel down to Hell?"

Y/N's brows furrowed. She really liked that Sera trusted her with a task so important.

But at the same time, she absolutely did not want to go down there.

"Does the princess know about this?" Y/N asked.

"We've informed her, yes," Sera answered.

Y/N thought some more. What would happen if she went down to Hell? Would the Sinners try to hurt her just because she was an angel? How was she supposed to act? Did Sinners act differently than the angels in Heaven? Would she die?

Would she get to see him again?

"Okay Your Majesty, I'll do it,"

from now on, im going to have multiple fics at once

whether its 4 or even 20 i do not care

i am not a patient woman

if u dont like it, read someone else's blog

this lovely banner was made by the very lovely @al-of-the-stars

GO CHECK OUT THEIR WORK NOW

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

[sadiegirl2021]

Writing tag game by @bonecarversbestie !

Describe your writing process from idea to posting/publishing?

I have a notes app called EasyNotes where I jot down all my ideas as I get them; bits of dialogue I think would work in a fic, interactions between characters (which always come to me just as I'm about to drift off to sleep) and very, very rough outlines of chapters.

Then, I'll word vomit onto a doc and copy in any notes I had.

Because I'm better at dialogue than describing the scene, I'll write out all of that first and then work from there to flesh it out. Like starting with the skeleton.

Once I have the first draft done, I start my editing process. I go paragraph by paragraph correcting spelling and grammar (I have a Chrome extension called LanguageTool), and then I play the whole chapter through another Chrome extension called Read Aloud. Because of my ADHD, it can be difficult to catch all my errors by reading alone, so hearing it out loud helps A LOT! Would recommend it. (Although the voices used are hilarious. Hearing your smut scene's read out by a monotone robot is slightly traumatising 😂)

Once I'm happy with a paragraph, I will add HTML coding to it - the <p> tag. In my head, it's just the easiest way to mark that a paragraph is complete. If I'm still not sure about a sentence or paragraph, I will mark it in red to rework. I also add all my <i> tags as I'm writing, so I don't forget about them later!

I realise I'm doing too much! But, I quite enjoy the editing process.

Once I get a chapter or One Shot uploaded, I try my best not to read it again so I'm not continuously making little changes.

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

I want to be a plotter SO BAD! I've got Excel sheets, multiple docs with outlines, plot points, and a solid plan. And then boom! The characters run off like a crazed toddler in the opposite direction, and all I can do is follow. So… I guess I'm a pantser!

What do you listen to when you are writing?

I have multiple Spotify playlists depending on the mood of the fic/chapter I'm writing. If I need to write emotional scenes, I'll put on some heartbreaking Emo songs from 2006! Or, if my energy drops while writing, I'll switch to 90s pop. Generally, though, I just listen to instrumental music. One of my fav playlists is this one.

What’s your drink of choice (while writing)?

Water. I am booooooring. It is sparkling, though!

Promote yourself! What’s your favourite thing you’ve written?

I think it's Hot Girl Summer. This was supposed to be a little funny, 5-10 chapter fic that wasn't serious. And it has spiralled into a multi POV, 40-chapter story with so much plot! I'm loving the process, though. And I think I will definitely have to get it bound when it's all done.

Share a fic of yours that you think is underrated/deserves more love.

I'm going to say Hot Girl Summer too. I think a lot of people aren't as interested in stories that follow both Gwynriel and Elucien (and sometimes E/riel or another pairing with their favourite characters) at the same time. I haven't seen many fics that do it, but they’re some of my favourites in the fandom, and I’m so happy to add to that list. If you're hesitant, I highly recommend giving them a try!

My favs are:

Call Me Home (by @propagandaprincess)

A Court of Vision and Bloom (by studentwriter666)

Best Laid Plans (by @trappedoutside124)

Do you have any advice for new writers?

First of all, just do it! It took me 33 years to build the confidence to try. For most of my life, I didn't think I was good enough to write, even though I had so many stories to tell. In my 20s, I probably wouldn’t have had the confidence to take the plunge. Writing opens you up to criticism (which I hate!), but I’m forever grateful that 99.9% of my readers have only ever been incredibly supportive and encouraging.

Don’t be afraid to use tools that help you. I know my limitations with ADHD, so I created a process that works for me. Everyone has a different method, and the right one is whatever works for you.

Finally, finding a community of like-minded people makes the whole process a lot more fun. I love helping others develop fic ideas or beta-reading for them, and appreciate all the support they give me. It really motivates me to keep writing.

What is a writing style/technique that others do really well that you'd like to get better at?

Flow and angst! I'm really working on improving these areas in my writing. I'm quite impatient and tend to rush through the plot rather than building up tension. I know I need to slow down and let the story breathe, but it's so hard! I just want my characters to kiss within the first 5 seconds 😂

Is there a character you were surprised you enjoyed writing as much as you did?

Eris Vanserra!

Gods, I love torturing this man! I've redeemed him so much in my fic that I'll be heartbroken if he truly turns out to be just a dickhead in the canon ACOTAR world!

Thank you for tagging me @olenvasynyt

No pressure tags: @sunshinebingo @avabrynne @thevalkyriesshadow @aldbooks @hlizr50

[feralwritings]

dissonance

part three

words: 4.2k

masterpost

taglist: @cam-peggio each notif you get for this fic must be a shock considering they're so spread out but i appreciate ya all the same hon

The arena in Phoenix is cold and empty when she walks into it, meandering towards the stage from the labyrinth of seats before her. When she finally reaches it, she clambers up, leaving her feet to dangle over the edge as she pulls out her phone.

This was the rehearsal space that Corroded Coffin had chosen for her to learn the song and practice it. They had a few options, seeming to narrow down on one. The one that she hoped beyond hope that they don’t choose, but judging by her luck, those lyrics are going to be ripped from her throat either way.

She’s here early, of course, alone in the quiet for a while. It’s almost peaceful, mostly haunting, looking out upon the rows of seats, thinking that she sees a phantom sitting in one before her eyes adjust, and it’s gone. Dealing with paranoia was never her strong suit, and she’s staring up at the nosebleeds, swearing that there’s movement up there when the stage rumbles below her.

She turns, seeing the boys wheeling equipment and instrument cases onto the stage. Eddie’s in the rear, and she smiles stiffly at each one as they pass by, allowing her smile to fall fully when Eddie looks at her.

She stands, quietly watching as they unload their gear, plug various cables into various panels, Joey, Jeff and Eddie tuning their guitars while Gareth adjusts the foot pedal for his kickdrum, giving it a few tests before nodding in satisfaction, drumming out a little fill, general rehearsal stuff.

And she’s there, in her hoodie and sweats, standing awkwardly downstage, waiting for them to tell her to do something, or even speak to her.

Of course, it’s Eddie who finally does, adjusting the height on his mic stand as he looks over at her, “We brought an extra mic, if you need it.”

She pulls out her own from her bag, waving it a little as she connects it to the soundboard, wired as opposed to not, easier to deal with for just a rehearsal.

“So,” she says, approaching Eddie, dragging a stand behind her, setting it a few feet away from him, as she slips her mic into the clip, “What song did you choose?”

There’s only a couple songs that feature another vocalist, and among those, none feature a female vocalist, so she can’t really think where she might fit into all this, if she can at all. The label said this might not work, it could end up being a one-off, something that she never has to do again.

“People love nostalgia, so we’re choosing one from our earlier years,” He says, bending to dig some lyric sheets out of his guitar case, handing them to her.

She reads the name at the top of the page, and her blood runs a bit cold.

It’s the song. The song that propelled them to stardom, the song that got them signed to a bigger label, the song that broke containment out of their sub-genre and reached the world at large, the song that sat at 86 on the Billboard Hot 100 for a month straight.

“You’re kidding,” She whispers, running the tips of her fingers over the printed ink, “You want me to sing this? With you?”

Eddie tilts his head at her, his brow furrowing, “Yeah, we haven’t performed it in a few years, thought it was time to bring it back around.”

She stares at him. She loves this song. Always has - even after everything went down, this was the song that she couldn’t quite manage to delete entirely from her library, simply removing it from her most frequent playlists, but it would sit there, like an old tome collecting dust. 

One of the reasons that the song broke containment was because of its rawness and vulnerability. The lyrics themselves, though steeped in excessive metaphor, paint a picture of devastating heartbreak. A heartbreak, though asked by every news outlet and interviewer and magazine and just about anyone could get a second with him, Eddie has never discussed. The fact that it's shrouded in mystery makes it all the more popular, superfans scrubbing through Eddie’s past, trying to figure out who it’s about. It starts off slow, building through the first chorus and into the second verse, and by the bridge it’s a cacophony of sound, overlapping bits of Eddie’s voice singing different parts, until they come into one succinct harmony during the final chorus. They haven’t made a song like it since. 

“Alright,” she exhales, “Where do you want me to come in?” 

“Was thinking near the second chorus, leading into the bridge. I could sing the harmony, you can sing the melody.”

Which, again, is a strange choice. Her voice, louder, higher than his will be what people mostly hear, and she doesn’t know if the return of this song, the song with her in it, is what people would even want. 

Eddie’s watching her, seeming to know that she’s mulling it over in her head. He takes a cautious step forward, and she snaps out of it, looking up into his face. 

“Listen,” he says, all tall, voice low, only meant for her, “We don’t have to like each other. Hell, we don’t even have to get along like best friends, but you and I both know this tour is going to suck ass if we’re always at each other's throats.”

She sighs, biting down on her cheek, “Yeah. Let's just…try and behave ourselves, I guess.” 

He nods, pulling his guitar from the case and slinging it across his shoulder. 

“Alright,” Eddie says, plucking out a little tune on the strings before approaching his microphone, “First verse.” 

***

She’s standing in the wings, tired from her own set but shaky about her part in this one. She can hear Eddie in her in-ears, can feel rather than hear the music, and as the lyrics inch closer and closer to her starting point, her heart rate jumps in her chest. 

Rehearsal had gone well enough, they’d decided that she would start singing when she was off the stage, and then walk on stage still singing. It’s a little Disney Channel, sure, but it didn’t really make sense for her to be on stage the whole time, awkwardly hovering by Jeff, waiting until it was time for her to sing. 

When the song had started, she could hear the cheers of the crowd, so loud that they had picked up on Eddie’s mic. He hadn’t really introduced it, just started playing the first few chords, recognizable enough that the crowd’s confused whispers had turned into a roar of excitement.

The second verse was finishing up now, the pre chorus ringing in her ears, Eddie’s raspy voice sending pins and needles down the length of her spine. He was a beautiful singer, there was no two ways about it, and try as she might to find more and more things wrong with him, with his music, with the band, with everything that had anything to do with him, she was coming up short, more and more. 

“Okay,” She hears one of the sound guy’s voices in her ear, Pete, maybe.

”Three.”

She takes a deep breath in.

”Two.”

She raises the microphone to her mouth.

”One.”

She starts to sing.

Her voice comes out stronger than she would’ve expected, higher, louder than Eddie’s like she knew it would be. Their harmony twists around each other, like both strands of a double helix around a DNA ladder, and judging by the way Eddie’s voice skips, he jerks his head to look at her, eyes wide, he’s just as surprised as she is. It didn’t sound like this in rehearsal, because they hadn’t been working together as they are now, off in their own worlds, in their own parts of the song, despite the fact that originally, the bridge was meant to be a cohesive piece.

It’s that way now, and as she walks out on stage, flashing a shy smile in greeting, Eddie holds out an arm in introduction, one hand off the neck of his guitar for a few seconds before it flies back, picking up the chords.

It goes well, considering.

For about thirty seconds.

When her in-ear cuts out, and she can only hear Eddie again, she figures that her mic is still on, and so she figures that she should keep singing, as the bridge is almost over. A quick glance at Eddie tells her that this is not the case, and she raises a finger to her mic in question, and he shakes his head, and then nods for her to come share his.

Which is quite literally the last thing she wants to do. She could just as well share Joey or Jeff’s mic, but they’re not even singing back up right now, and as the few seconds pass before she makes a decision, she can feel a lull in the crowd, and can hear, above all else, Stacy’s voice in her head, telling her to ride their coattails. 

She jogs up to Eddie’s side, having kept her distance from him this whole time. He moves to the right to accommodate her as she stands on tiptoe to reach his microphone, as it’s set just above her head.

She can hear herself again in Eddie’s mic, and she can feel Eddie himself pressed into her side, the neck of his guitar crossed in front of her like the blade of a sword, his elbow brushing against her as he changes chords.

The last few lines of the bridge approach, and her eyes slip to meet his. She can feel his breath on her face, they’re that close, and when the lights strobe around them, she can see the expression on his face in snapshots, apathy, then interest, then a softness that shows in his eyes, the way they half close when he looks down at her mouth, the way that the only thing separating their faces is the microphone between them. 

It’s over half a second later, Eddie’s turning back towards the crowd to sing the final notes of the song, and she slinks off stage in a way that she hopes isn’t obvious. Her job is done, she sang the fucking song, she can leave. 

She’s walking so fast back to Daisy Chain’s greenroom that she missteps and rolls her ankle in her shoe and falls against the wall, panting. 

The searing pain in her ankle is accompanied by a pounding in her chest, so loud that she can hear it in her ears. She sinks to the ground, putting her head between her knees, breathing deeply. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s there, breathing in, out, in, out. It could’ve been minutes or an hour, but sometime later she feels a hand on her shoulder, and jolts, head snapping up. 

It’s Steve. Thick eyebrows drawn together in concern, a small frown on his lips. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, pressing the back of his fingers to her cheek as if to check her temperature. 

“Yeah,” she chokes out, and he helps her stand. She puts a little weight on her ankle and it pounds, but not enough for her to not be able to limp back to the bus and ice it, “Just - got a bit -“

“Overwhelmed?” Steve offers, hand on her hip to steady her as she tries walking a few steps, “You seem to be like that a lot, lately. Is there something going on?”

She considers, for half a second, telling him. Telling him that her career, her livelihood and her passion hangs in the balance if she doesn’t play nice with Corroded Coffin, and with Eddie. That if she isn’t a good girl, that if she doesn’t stay on the marionette strings UDR has her on, she’ll lose the one thing she’s actually accomplished in her life. 

She also considers telling him that playing nice with Eddie is not as hard as she thought it would be, and that she wishes it was harder, so she’d have a reason, a tangible, solid reason to still hate him.

She shakes her head, though, gulping all of this back, “I think it’s just the adrenaline. That crowd was really loud.”

Steve nods, but she can tell that he doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. Despite his reputation for being a bit of a himbo, she’s come to find that he is actually quite perceptive. When she sees him, that is. She can count on one hand the number of times they’ve hung out on this tour, despite being almost a month into it.

He helps her back to the buses outside, and on the journey they talk a little. About the tour, about his music, about a little bit of everything and nothing at all. He’s on in less than 20 minutes, but he makes sure that she gets in okay before speeding away, into the waiting crowd of managers and crew, who all roll their eyes at him, in a fond sort of way.

She sheds what she can of her clothes, grabs a can of soda from the fridge and collapses onto her bed, resting the can between the wall of her bunk and her ankle. She stares up at the ceiling, and right before sleep takes over, she sees that flash of Eddie’s eyes again.

***

Her disappearing act doesn’t go unnoticed. Eddie’s salty about it during load out, tossing cables into his case in a pissy little way, so much so that she clamps her headphones over her head and ignores him for the rest of the day.

The girls had been concerned, telling her that they’d searched all through the venue for her before finally returning to the bus and finding her zonked out in her bunk. She gave a half apology and an even weaker explanation, folding in on herself like she always does.

They drive through the night to get to Santa Fe, having a few days to themselves before the show.

Both bands, and Steve spend this time apart, in their respective buses, and on day two, their hotel rooms. It’s nice to sleep in a full sized bed for once, even if Reader wakes up with Chrissy’s limbs wrapped around her like a koala.

On the third night, the night before the show, cabin fever sets in. It’s late, past 3 am when Reader moves Chrissy’s limbs off of her and pads quietly out of the hotel room and down the hall, tugging a hoodie on as she goes.

She just needs a little air, is all. She walks through the pristine hotel lobby and into the night, which has a chilly bite to it that has her pulling her hoodie closer around herself.

Stucco buildings tower around her. The hotel is situated on a quaint little street, with old fashioned orange street lamps lining the road, bathing everything around her in a warm, amber light that ignites a sad little twinge of nostalgia in her. Home, in Indianapolis, on crisp summer nights, biking home from band practice, throat sore and heart full.

She closes her eyes, the sound of distant traffic playing in her ears. Then, a much closer sound has her eyes flying open.

The click of a lighter sounds somewhere close, and she glances around, feeling an unearned and slightly misplaced terror that Eddie is lurking somewhere in the shadows. Her eyes eventually fall on a much shorter figure, and Gareth steps out of the alley between the hotel and adjacent building, and even from here, she can hear the music that is blaring through his headphones.

He startles when he sees her, eyes growing wide as he comically jumps back. She raises an eyebrow at him and he quickly collects himself, pulling his headphones off to rest around his neck before looking at her again.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, in a would-be casual voice, but there’s a distinct undertone to it that makes her mouth taste a little sour.

“Not really. Chrissy is like a furnace.”

He murmurs something around his cigarette, something that sounds a little bit like lucky but she can’t be too sure.

“What’s her deal, anyway?” He suddenly asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Is she like,” He makes a vague gesture that she has no idea how to interpret, “Single?”

Reader bites back a grin and shakes her head, “Nah, she’s got a guy back home. They’re crazy about each other.”

She can tell he’s trying not to look devastated, and a little pinprick of pity sparks in her chest before she remembers that she doesn’t like him, then it goes from sad to pretty funny.

“What about you? Or Nancy and Robin?”

“Robin and Nance have been together since they were seventeen. Me? None of your business.”

He seems to know that none of your business means that she’s as single as the day is long, and it's his turn to feel pity or vindication, whichever one he wants.

It doesn’t show on his face what he does feel, expression made carefully blank. He takes another drag off his cigarette and turns his gaze towards the street.

“Eddie’s been pretty pissy since Phoenix,” He says, rather suddenly, eyes darting to her before they dart back toward the road.

She was afraid of the conversation veering into this territory, not wanting to think about or talk about Eddie, as much as she could help.

“Boo-hoo,” She deadpans, “Not my problem.”

“He’s not as bad as you think,” Gareth turns towards her now, eyebrows scrunched together in a display of earnestness, “He-”

“I don’t care what he is, Gareth,” She cuts him off, “I’m just trying to get through this tour, okay? Corroded Coffin wasn’t exactly my idea of a good tour mate, but we play the cards we’re dealt, and I’m playing nice, aren’t I?”

Gareth looks like he wants to retort, but she quells him with a stare and he raises his hands in surrender, the glowing bud of his cigarette waving through the air as he does.

He turns to go back into the hotel, and she hears the sliding doors open, and then close.

“He doesn’t hate you. I think you should know that.”

The doors open again, and she’s left standing there, in the chilly night air that just got about ten degrees colder.

***

She’s frenetic tonight, never staying in one place too long. She’s gone up to the barricade more than once, allowing several hands to grasp around her extended arm, while security keeps a tight hold on her legs to keep her from being pulled under.

Song after song, lyric after lyric, Eddie can’t keep his eyes off her from where he stands in the wings, a post that he’s taken up a little too often as of late. He makes excuses here and there, but always finds himself watching some part of their set before he trudges back to their green room to do warm ups.

He watches in almost indecent fascination as she gears up for the bridge of the song they’re playing, filling her lungs with air.

When the bridge comes, she whips her guitar around her body on the strap, so that it’s slung across her back. She seizes the microphone and rips it from the stand, the honeyed tones of her falsetto reverberating across the venue. A slow drum line builds as she sinks to her knees, and the lights go crazy, turning the sweat droplets that cling to her skin into a thousand tiny jewels, sparkling as brightly as the shimmery eyeshadow packed onto her closed eyes. The crowd goes fucking wild as she tilts her head back, hair cascading like the branches of a willow tree down her back. 

Fuck, Eddie thinks, watching her from the side of the stage, watching as her brow furrows, watching as she bangs her head in time with the whine of the electric guitar riff that Chrissy’s shredding out.

She’s back on her feet again, slipping the microphone back into the stand, bringing her guitar back to her front, fingers sliding across the neck as she strums the rhythm section of the final chorus, grinning into the microphone as she sings, hips swaying to and fro, the curve of her ass peeking out from underneath her skirt as she bends at the knees a little. 

She’s so fucking pretty. She is so fucking pretty and Eddie can’t breathe. When the song ends, and she honest to god giggles into the microphone, the noise being amplified and echoed around the venue, and Eddie can’t help but feel like this whole thing has been specifically designed to make his knees weak. 

“Wow!” She exclaims, tossing a couple picks into the crowd, “Thank you so much! That tune is one of my favorites, and on almost every stop on this tour, it's gotten a bigger and bigger response.”

Robin drums out her agreement, and Reader looks over her shoulder with a smile, before turning to the audience again, introducing their next song.

And all Eddie can do is watch. He watches her dance to the beat, smile to herself, watches her fingers fly lovingly across her guitar. She’s a little firecracker when she’s on stage, always in motion, and it’s so electrifying, so fucking endearing that Eddie feels the hair on his arms stand up when her shimmering, graphic liner gaze falls on him for a millisecond. 

She sings about love. She sings about sex, about nostalgia and about the ocean, sings about the minutiae of human experience and heartbreak, each lyric captivating and masterful, tugging at the exact right parts of the brain, evoking what feels like a million different responses in Eddie, from skipped heartbeats to a tightening in his jeans to a hot sting in his eyes, and he can’t quite take it anymore. 

Corroded Coffin is next, he knows that, but he - fuck, he needs a minute. He ducks away from stage right and heads to their green room, pouring out a shot of whiskey and downing it, hands clenched around the edge of the vanity, head bowed towards his chest. 

It’s mystifying that this girl, who’s capable of such vitriol towards him, who avoids him at every turn, who has nothing but contempt for him can reduce him to this with lyrics and vibrato and sweetness reserved for no one else but the crowd in front of her. 

If he has to stand smushed against the barricade, metal digging painfully into his skin as sweaty bodies press into him to catch even a little bit of that sweetness, to catch a stray smile, he’d do it.

Which is so fucking ridiculous that it pisses him off. He’s got people knocking down the door for even a chance to fuck him. He could go out there right now, flash a smile at anyone and would probably end up getting his dick wet for it, a hot mouth against his. 

But he wants her, and it is infuriating, because he knows, he fucking knows that it’s never going to happen. She wouldn’t want him even if he was the last man on planet earth. 

He supposed this is what he deserves for that throwaway comment, and the utter lack of humility to go to her after, through text or DM or pull her aside as she walked into UDR, tell her that he’s sorry, he’s so fucking sorry and not only that, he’s an idiot, a callous, selfish idiot that had eyes and ears for nothing else but his own band, his own success, so much so that he was willing to step on her neck get ahead. 

If only he had known - fuck. How talented she truly was, would it have made a difference? Even if she sucked, even if her band couldn’t hold a tune it still wouldn’t have mattered, it wouldn’t have made that comment okay, in any way shape or form. 

It’s retroactively humiliating, but he knows, as he glares at himself in the mirror, hating himself, that his humiliation is nothing to what they’d done to Daisy Chain. 

He's so wrapped up in his self-loathing spiral that he doesn’t really register that the music warbling through the walls of the venue has stopped. He only comes back to his senses when the door opens and peels of laughter seep into the room, the clunk of platform shoes proceeding the girls, save for Robin and her keds, all smiling and sweaty.  

Reader’s eyes land on him first, and her smile disappears in an instant. 

Up close, he can see her makeup running a bit, can see the tired sorta droop to her eyes and he can smell her perfume mixing with her sweat, which normally would’ve been kinda gross but in this instance, sends his brain into a tailspin worse than it already had been.

Chrissy speaks first, “I think we have the wrong room.”

They do, as the bands were afforded separate green rooms, the one that Eddie’s standing in presenting a distinct lack of everything the girls own. 

They all file out after Chrissy’s proclamation. All except for Reader. 

She’s staring at Eddie, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Are you…” She hesitates, shifting her weight from foot to foot, “Alright?”

How uncharacteristic. Up until now, Eddie was under the impression that she truly didn’t care if he lived or died. So, it’s somewhat shocking that she’s displaying even a shred of concern for him, even if it looks like the words taste sour in her mouth. 

“Yeah,” he manages, straightening up, “Yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

She nods curtly, “Good. You’re up, by the way.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the stage. 

And with that, she’s closing the door with a snap, leaving him alone.

[polaroidcats]

rules: shuffle your repeat playlist and post the first ten tracks, then tag ten people

thank you @iwillbealwaysadreamer for tagging me to do this!!! <3

alright here we go:

Truth Of My Youth by New Found Glory

Proud of Me by Eva Westphal

I Will Steal You Back by Jimmy Eat World

Devotion and Desire by Bayside

Hairline Fracture by Rise Against

Suspension by Mae

Kiss Me Like Nobody's Watching by Simple Plan

I Will Follow You into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie

San Diego by blink-182

Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

hahahaha oh god, I knew it was gonna be mostly from that playlist but I'm pretty sure 8 or maybe even 9 out of these 10 songs are actually from the Dear Your Holiness playlist by @mollymarymarie because I re-read that fic last week and not only is the fic excellent, the vibes of the playlist are also just so, so good.

Okay I'm not going to tag anyone this time, but if anyone wants to do this tag and expose themselves like I did please feel free to say I tagged you and tag me in your posts so I can see what's on your spotify on repeat! <3

[turtleblogatlast]

Not a day passes where I am not unreasonably saddened by how we were robbed from a full fledged musical episode

[a-whole-lot-of-things]

i love dead boy detectives to death, and hope with all my being that we can Somehow pull off getting it back (through netflix or otherwise)

but honestly if we cant? if we get stuck at where we are now forever? i honestly think ill miss the potential s2 soundtrack the most

[delicatepoets]

on undying friendships for @fightingdragonswithwho​ <3

graceland too - phoebe bridgers / daisy jones and the six / leonard cohen - boygenius / a league of their own (2022) / a little life - hanya yanagihara / ladybird (2017) / the seven husbands of evelyn hugo - taylor jenkins reid

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

four walls playlist

[buzzingroyalty]

i heard mother mother and cavetown r touring together. huge day for trans teens who make youtube song playlists for southpark characters

[abyssal-art]

I hate Spotify character playlists so so much bc it’s all mother mother, will wood, and other real popular songs. and some don’t even WORK, man!!

Like have fun n stuff but I have a specifically curated playlist bc everyone else is wrong abt my favorite character /lh

[kevindavidday]

i did it. i made a desi kevjean playlist.

[seventh-district]

again and again i find myself lamenting that audio roleplay isn't taken more seriously by some people. like yeah, they often have a romantic element, and by nature they usually directly involve/address the listener- and i totally get that those things aren't to everyone's taste. no art or entertainment is universally appealing, and that's okay! but.. it still makes me a lil sad that the "cringe" reputation of asmr/audio rp precedes it. there's a whole lot of talent and creativity being poured into these audios by so many people that i feel goes unrecognized and/or disrespected simply due to the medium that the stories are being told through.

[wrongcaitlyn]

psst. pollen enthusiasts. i made a playlist.

the title is from espresso despite espresso not even being on the playlist i just thought it was funny (will prob change it to a lyric from loml eventually) but!!! it's all in order. their story from beginning to end. in music. can you tell i may be even more obsessed with them than the literal main couple of the series.